The Ones They Left Behind
by Mary the Canary
Summary: When tragedy strikes at the Opera Populaire, the lives of those who survive are changed forever. Years later, a young girl finds her fate inexplicably tied to the incident, and it is up to her to solve the mysteries of her family, heart, and fortune before tragedy strikes again.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings to all Phantom of the Opera fans! My name is Mary the Canary and I am pleased to share with you this little plot bunny that has been forming inside my mind for a while now.**

 **As fellow writers know, reviews are warmly received and I try to respond to all comments. A review a day keeps resignation at bay!**

 **Thank you, and enjoy :)**

 **-–-**

 **Paris, France. Opera Populaire. 1871.**

 **Vicomte Raoul De Chagny**

I thought I knew jealousy.

I thought I knew it that very first night, when his deep voice emanated from Christine's dressing room, disembodied yet somehow whisking her away. I thought I knew it the evening of the Masquerade Ball, when she refused to publicly announce our engagement, the way she walked up those steps towards him with that mesmerized glow on her face. I was sure I knew it that night at her father's grave, when her opaline face shone like the moon as she poured out her soul to him, while I stood beside, helpless and dejected, unable to make her truly _see_ him.

Oh, but those feelings were nothing compared to what raged inside me now. My nostrils flared as he snaked those devilish arms around her tiny waist, causing the sleeves of her dress to slip even further as he trailed a hand over her sternum and up to her collarbone.

It was a grand spectacle of hell, from the vivid depiction of their intimacy to the agony swelling within me. The stage itself was a fiery inferno, surrounded by flames that highlighted the bridge on which they were both standing. The ballerinas and their partners, garbed in garish black, were imitating them in slow, sensual movements. Murmurs of disapproval resounded from the audience with each intimate gesture, the air thickening with the scent of sin and unease. And the fire! The temperature rose with each passing minute, and I shifted uncomfortably in my suit as sweat trickled down my face. No, the devil himself could not have found a better form of torment for me.

He pressed himself onto her as their voices melded into one intimate coupling. I had to grit my teeth to keep from shouting. How dare he corrupt her reputation, and in front of all Paris high society! Philippe inhaled sharply from behind, though I dared not turn to face him; I had nothing to say for Christine's actions tonight. In fact I could not do nothing but lock my eyes on the scene before me, unwilling to watch that abominable sin yet unable to turn away.

My stomach churned as he callously slid his fingers up her delicate throat, and oh God, her curls! The same chocolate curls that carried with them the scent of lilacs and sunshine and _her,_ the very curls that had tickled my face that night we kissed on the rooftop.

But worst of all was the fact that she did not recoil from him in revulsion or fear. A muscle in my jaw tightened at the sight of her countenance, serene, content, and unperturbed. There was no mistaking the slight upturn of her lips as he lifted a finger to graze her cheek.

Anger and betrayal swept through me with a sudden realization: she was enjoying it.

I couldn't bear to watch them any longer. Tearing my eyes away, I found the stage guard, Monsieur Bonnet, staring back as if expecting me to send the signal. But how could I? How could I let him shoot when that devil and Christine were entwined into one? To kill him would be to kill her, in more ways than one I thought to myself, eyes prickling at the thought.

" _Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime._

 _Lead me, save me from my solitude._

 _Say you'll want me with you here, beside you._

 _Anywhere, you go let me go too."_

The metallic taste of blood flooded my senses as teeth clamped down hard upon tongue. I knew that song - it was the very one Christine and I had shared on the rooftop!

" _Christine, that's all I ask of -"_

Her lovely hands, resting gently on either side of his face, suddenly jerked back to reveal a deathlike, grotesque visage where his mask had been. Bloodcurdling screams erupted throughout the entire theatre as I stood, petrified, my eyes locked on the horror before me.

He was staring back at her, pain and betrayal alight in his ghastly, shrunken eyes, and for a moment I wondered if I looked the same. She stared back at him, wide-eyed as he pulled a knife from his pocket and began aggressively saw through the ropes holding their bridge up.

Now was the time. Turning to Monsieur Bonnet, I brought my hand to my forehead in a salute, the agreed signal. With that devil's back turned, Christine would be safe from the shot.

The next few moments happened in slow motion. A thunderous, cracking sound echoed from above as the chandelier began to sway, teetering back and forth as the ceiling broke apart and crashed down in pieces upon the spectators. Then the chandelier began its deadly descent upon the crowd, candles flying everywhere and setting everything they touched on fire. Amidst the screams came an ear-splitting crack, and I turned to the stage just in time to see his eyes widen with horror as he looked down upon Christine.

She stared at him blankly as she brought a hand up to her chest, a hand too small to conceal the crimson patch that blossomed across her white garment. A cry escaped my lips at the sight of her lithe body swaying, her lovely eyes closing as she began to fall.

He surged forward to embrace her and together they fell, through the wooden bridge and into the fire that had by now consumed the stage.

I ran out of Box Five, sprinting as fast as I could to the stage. I had to get there! I had to save her! My heart pounded in my ears as I began to feel sick, my stomach churning with each step. But I could not stop. Down the stairs, through the corridor, and into the theatre I ran until I neared the stage.

"Raoul!" Philippe shouted, his heavy footfalls sounding from a few meters behind.

I neared the stage, but all was fire and I began to choke on the smoke. Removing my handkerchief from where it was folded in my pocket, I hastily brought it to my mouth as I gasped for oxygen.

"Raoul!" Philippe called again, coughing as he grabbed my arm and forced me back. "Raoul, it's too late! Let's get out of here -"

"She's on the stage, Philippe!" I roared, wrenching myself free from his grasp. "Don't you understand? She is injured! She was shot! If I don't get her off stage, she will die!"

"So will you, if you don't leave now!" yelled Philippe. Ignoring him, I mounted the steps to the stage where a wall of fire raged before me.

"Raoul! Come back! It is no use - the bullet went through both of them!"

I stopped, unbelieving, as the smoke made my eyes water. It could not be true.

"Raoul, she's gone! She was standing too close!"

No, no there was some mistake. Surely, this was all a -

"Christine is dead, Raoul!"

I shook my head vehemently in denial. He didn't understand. She was just injured. She was not dead yet.

Suddenly a sharp pain pierced the back of my head. Lifting my hand to the source of pain, I brought it back and grew faint at the sight of my fingers.

They were covered in blood.

Vision blurring, I slowly turned to find Philippe gripping a wooden beam in his right hand, staring at me with a mix of determination and horror.

"Raoul...Raoul, I'm so sorry, I had to...I had to save you...oh God, Raoul, please don't die!"

Dropping the handkerchief, I began to sway as smoke burned my lungs.

Christine. _Christine!_

The last thing I remembered was a dizzying image of glimmering, sea-blue eyes and lustrous chocolate curls. Then the ground came rushing up to my feet, and I fell into the darkness beyond.


	2. Chapter 2

**Eighteen years later. 1889. Paris, France.**

 **Madeleine Bonnet**

" _Madeleine Bonnet - make me the happiest man alive! Say you'll marry me!"_

His proposal swirled around my mind like dense fog as I walked along the riverbank, moonlight reflecting off the water-polished pebbles that crunched beneath my feet. It was a delightful sound, a distracting sound, just what I needed in this moment.

The riverbanks were mostly empty at this time of night, save for the occasional pair of lovebirds sneaking kisses from one another. Working Paris had an early morning to anticipate for, and late night walks were considered by most to be trivial.

Closing my eyes, I inhaled the cool, rain-scented air, delighting in the delicious chill that promptly shivered through my body. I felt alive, invigorated, as if my soul could float up into the sky and throughout Paris, exploring the wonders of the city until it returned to my being at the break of day.

" _But one thing want these banks of Rhine, -_

 _Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine_."

 _This is no time for poetry_ _,_ I scolded myself, huffing out that gentle inhale. My thoughts returned to Paul's proposal.

Paul. His image rose before me, charming smile and bright green eyes that never failed to warm my heart whenever he glanced my way. He was the talk of many a young lady in our neighborhood, and of their parents, for everyone wanted a boy like Paul in their family.

And yet, despite his popularity, it was long rumored that Paul had settled his affections on me. I pretended to be oblivious to those comments, and tried not to believe them, for I never understood the source of Paul's affection.

I was not particularly handsome by any means. My eyes were a clear shade of blue, not startlingly beautiful: more like the color of ice that frosted over a winter lake. My hair, often described by others as "red" (though I liked to think of it as strawberry blonde) was carefully plaited and coiffed into a neat bun. Besides the vibrant hue of my hair, the rest of my features were plain and little, from the delicate contours of my face to the slenderness of my figure.

Even if Paul found me physically attractive - which seemed unlikely, considering the gorgeous ladies who fawned over him - our personalities could not have been more different. He was outgoing, charming, and humorous, while I was quiet and reticent, watching my peers from afar with affection but rarely bridging that gap with friendship.

Dear reader, please don't believe that I am averse to intimacy - I longed for it most ardently - but I simply seemed incapable of the easy grace and manners necessary for when meeting people. As a result I mostly kept to myself and to my parents, helping out with Mama's seamstress shop when I wasn't daydreaming or stealing away with a borrowed book.

But there was Paul, always Paul, my truest and perhaps only friend. He was everything I could ever desire in a husband: dependable, hardworking, and obviously very much in love with me. And yet, I could not remove that longing for _something_ which stirred within my very core.

Oh, how I longed for that something! How I longed to make a difference in the world, to see, to help, to change! Paul's proposal should have delighted me - and while I confess it flattered me - I was hesitant to accept, though I couldn't quite put my finger on why.

Oh. _Oh._

I wanted love.

It was a silly desire. I knew that. The best marriages are the ones in which there is enough food on the table, the ones in which each person acts with a certain amount of respect towards one another and to society. Love was about action, not feeling, and yet, how I longed to feel!

I was seventeen now. It was time for me to marry - what was I waiting for? I had to admit that of all the boys I knew, Paul and I had the greatest chance at happiness.

Happiness, yes, but what of romance? What of passion, what of the melding of two souls into one?

 _It must be late now_ , I thought to myself, knowing Mama and Papa would worry if I stayed much longer.

Lifting my gaze to tonight's full moon, I stared intently at it, committing the sight to memory.

"Dear Lord," I whispered, my eyes focused on the opaline sphere in the sky. "Please, please let my life _mean_ something!"

With that, I averted my gaze and and hurried along the shortcut home.

-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-–-—-—-—-—-—-—-

I was several meters away from the house before I noticed something strange: there were no lights in the windows. A feeling of unease lodged in my stomach; Mama usually waited up for me whenever I went on my walks. I quickened my pace to the door.

Twisting the doorknob, I noticed how eerily silent the house was: flames weren't crackling in the hearth, Mama wasn't humming along to the clicking of her needlework, and Papa's deep chuckle was nowhere to be heard.

I shuddered, the hairs of my neck standing on end as I entered the seemingly empty house.

"Mama? Papa?" I called out. There was no reply. From upstairs I heard what sounded like muffled footsteps.

"It's nothing," I whispered to myself, climbing the stairs as my pulse quickened. Each step creaked louder than the one preceding it.

"Mama? Papa?" I called again, unable to mask the quiver in my voice as I reached the second floor. The sound of shattering glass pierced the air. Shaking, I edged forward to press my ear against their bedroom door, straining to hear, but my heart pounded too loudly and my breathing was ragged.

Stomach churning, I slowly twisted the doorknob as the hinges let out one long, eerie screech.

A bloodcurdling scream broke from my lips, my eyes widening at the horror before me.

There on the floor lay Papa and Mama, arms splayed and bodies limp as if….Red crimson patches spotted their white nightclothes and oozed onto the floor in little rivers.

"Papa? Mama?" I whimpered, disbelieving. I kneeled on the ground where Papa lay unmoving at my feet. "Papa? Papa?"

Suddenly the room grew very quiet. Leaning forward to place my ear against his chest, I could feel a warm, damp wetness paint my cheek. Holding my breath, I strained to hear his heartbeat. None came.

He was dead.

I withdrew in horror, staring at his lifeless blue eyes which gazed over to some place in the distance.

Shrieking, I stepped over Papa and stumbled over to where Mama lay. This could not be happening...perhaps she was just asleep…this was just another one of my nightmares...

"Mama? Mama?" I cried, clasping her hand with my own. She was still warm.

"Madeleine…" came a cracked whisper, and her eyes fluttered open.

"Mama! Mama! You are alive! Don't leave me!" I cried, eyes smarting as she turned to face me. "Let me get the doctor! Oh, Mama!"

"Madeleine!" she rasped, grabbing my arm with a surprising strength. She gasped for breath before continuing. "It's under the floorboards...the floorboards in your room...right corner...under your bed…"

"Mama, I am calling for help now," I whimpered, standing up as tears spilled over my cheeks.

An icy draft blew into the room, wiping out the last remains of the fire. Her eyes closed once more, and I whipped my gaze to the window. Shattered glass was strewn about like a macabre mosaic beneath it.

I stumbled over to the broken window, glass crunching beneath my shoes as I fell onto the frame.

"HELP! HELP!" I screamed into the frigid night air. "Doctor, somebody, come quick!"

Candles flickered on in the neighbors' windows. I fell back to Mama's side.

"Mama, Mama," I cried, stopping only when I saw her lips moving.

"The floorboards...underneath...go now, Madeleine." Shifting her arm from where it was splayed beside her head, she slowly brought it to her waist where there was a soft tinkling sound. Hands shaking, she presented me with her final gift: a white rosary. _Her_ white rosary.

"I love you, sweet Madeleine," she whispered, eyes struggling to stay open. "Pray for my soul...when I'm gone...your father and I will be with you always."

"Mama! Oh, Mama, don't leave me!" I shrieked as her eyes drooped, her body releasing one last exhale before all became still.

She was gone.

Heart wrenching sobs erupted from my core as I threw myself on top of her, warm blood soaking through my dress as we embraced, life and death. Time ceased, and I ardently wished to die.

Sniffling, my nose smarted with a strange scent. Smoke. Bleary eyes flickered over to the window, where there was a definite glow.

Slowly untangling myself from Mama, I staggered to the window with shaky steps. Looking about, I saw fire blazing in the kitchen, just one story below.

A subtle movement caught my eye, and despite the blackness of the night I could make out the dark silhouette of a man. A large hat obscured his face from view, though he seemed to be facing the fire, as if staring at it, doing nothing whatsoever to put it out.

"HELP!" I screamed, and he seemed to tilt his head towards me. A deep, sinister chuckle emanated from where he stood, my blood chilling in terror. Then he turned the opposite direction and stalked off into the darkness.

My stomach dropped with a sudden realization: he was the man who did this! The very man who murdered my parents and set my house on fire! My blood boiled with a surge of unknown emotion. Hatred.

The shouting voices resounded from below as I rushed out of the room with a choked sob, taking one last glance at my deceased parents. I had to get out of here.

Sprinting down the stairs, my eyes stung with the intensity of heat and smoke. I soon saw why: the stairway was blocked with a solid wall of fire.

It was then Mama's panicked words came back to me.

"The floorboards, Madeleine…"

Bolting to my room, my sides burned as I dropped down on all fours and crawled under the bed, desperately groping the area for something. Just as I was about to give up, my fingers found a narrow groove in the floor, a groove only slender fingers such as mine could fit into. Stuffing my fingers into the groove, I heaved until a square shaped piece of wood came loose, and threw it aside. Two leather-bound volumes of paper were tucked beneath the floorboard, and I hastily brought them up to my chest, tears prickling my eyes once more.

"Madeleine!" yelled a familiar voice from below, and my stomach lurched.

"Paul!" I cried, throwing the books onto the bed as I raced to the window. I wrenched it open. "I can't get downstairs - there's fire!"

Through the blazing firelight I could see his bright eyes widen, then narrow determinedly at the other neighbors, who were either gaping or hauling buckets of water onto the house.

"Somebody! Fetch a blanket! Aimee!" he yelled to his sister, arms waving. "Bring a blanket, the thickest you can find. And tell all the men to come! She'll have to jump from the window!"

Turning back to me, he yelled: "Madeleine! Wake your parents!"

"Dead, Paul," I choked.

"What?" he shouted, the tumultuous crowd having blocked out my words.

"They are dead, Paul!" I screamed, and he took off his nightcap to place it over his heart. I didn't hear what he said next, though through watery eyes I could see his eyes downcast and lips moving as if in prayer.

Below me a group of men formed, holding up a checkered blanket.

"Jump, Madeleine!" one of them yelled.

Shaking my head, I turned from the window. I could hear screams of people calling my name, most notably Paul, but I needed one more thing.

Stumbling to the bed, I hastily wrapped my baby blanket around the two leather-bound books. I staggered back to the window, and threw the bundle down. Paul caught it, then fixed his gaze on me.

"Jump, Madeleine! Please!" he cried, desperation coloring his tone.

Climbing onto the windowsill, I trembled at the sight of the ground so far below me. There was no way I could jump, not with that horrible sensation of nausea creeping in my belly.

"Jump, Madeleine!"

Closing my eyes, I forced myself off the windowsill, parched throat screaming in terror as I fell.

Beyond the fire I saw Death, my parents cradled in his arms.

" _Come to me_ ," he beckoned, extending a finger that wrapped an ice-cold aura around me.

I let out one last bloodcurdling scream before all became black.

—–—–—–—–—–—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

 **On a side note - while I have never read the entirety of "Phantom" by Susan Kay, I know Erik's poor, unhappy mother is named Madeleine. Just to clarify, Erik's mother and this Madeleine are not the same person. But bonus points to those who caught that!**

 **Don't worry, we will be seeing familiar faces starting next chapter... ;)**

 **Thank you to all who have read, commented, and followed this story!**


End file.
